


Duet for Piano and Electric Guitar

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU I suppose, Cake, Cohabitation, F/M, Het, Sharing a Bed, TARDIS stuff, half human, mentions bill, mozart - Freeform, on his mother's side, past doctor/master well obviously, past doctor/river, twissy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: The Doctor and Missy, living together in the TARDIS and negotiating the past.





	Duet for Piano and Electric Guitar

“How are you getting on?”

Missy looked up from the maintenance space under the console. “Are you certain you don't have a spare?”

The Doctor shook his head. “I told you, I had to swap it for a new tertiary hyper-core.”

Missy pulled herself up out of the gap and got to her feet. “Well,” she said, rolling the sleeves of her blouse back down, “I did my best. It might hold for a century or two but after that you're going to have to come up with another solution.”

“I'm sure something will turn up,” he said, unconcerned. “That's usually the way with these things.”

Missy wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Frankly,” she said, “repairing this thing is a waste of time. You'd be better off salvaging the parts that can't be replaced and fitting them into a new casing. There's a shop on Vega IX that sells most of what you'd need for a much more reliable navigation system, and -”

The Doctor leapt to the defence of his TARDIS. “Hey, you don't just scrap a classic vehicle like this! The Type 40 is a vintage design!”

“No, Doctor, my old Mark II was vintage, this thing's just fit for the scrapheap. It doesn't even have a functioning chameleon circuit. And the consistency of the internal geometries is appalling. Not to mention -”

He scowled at Missy and stroked the console soothingly. “Don't listen to her, old girl, she's just trying to annoy me. It's her hobby.”

“You're not supposed to talk to it!” She shook her head. “You named that ugly little car UNIT gave you, didn't you? Did you have conversations with that as well?”

“I was exiled,” he said, “I didn't have much in the way of non-human company. If you hadn't been so set on trying to kill me you could have rescued me from that. We could have travelled together.”

“You did offer once,” she said. “But then you stuck me in a time-loop. Don't worry, I plan to forgive you for that sometime in the next millennium.”

“You were evil at the time,” said the Doctor, defensively. 

“And I'm sure that helps you sleep at night.” She held out her hand. “Give me the sonic screwdriver, I'll have a go at recalibrating the temporal stabilisers.”

“I did that last month,” he said.

“Well, apparently it needs done again. Or is your TARDIS always this bad at maintaining interior stability?” 

“Stop picking on her, you'll give her a complex,” he said, but he handed the screwdriver over anyway.

“I doubt that,” said Missy as she disappeared under the console, “it's as arrogant as you are.”

 

He was reading in bed when she knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he called, putting down his book.

“Your TARDIS hid my room,” said Missy as she entered.

“I'm not surprised.”

“It wouldn't hurt _you_ , so this is the safest room on the ship. I'll sleep here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Here?”

“Someone as skinny as you can't need a whole double bed to themselves anyway,” she said. When he hesitated she continued. “Our first winter at the academy, all those big storms. I let you sleep in my bed every night, and you had cold feet. You owe me.”

The Doctor sighed. “Fine.” He picked up his book. “Just don't steal the entire duvet.”

Missy nodded. “I won't.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

“I'll need something to wear,” she said, heading to his wardrobe and rummaging around in its depths. The Doctor rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his book.

He looked up again when she spoke. “This is a bit risqué for you,” she said, holding up a short red satin nightdress and examining it critically. 

It was River's, of course, and the Doctor mentally kicked himself for letting Missy into this room before he'd managed to convince himself to move all of his late wife's possessions into storage. “Put that back,” he said, steeling himself for an argument. 

To his great surprise, Missy did as she was told. He heard her shifting coat-hangers as she continued her search. “Can I wear these?” she asked, lifting out a pair of light blue pyjamas. 

“If you like,” he said, mostly just glad that she had left the rest of River's clothes alone. He returned to his reading as she changed, partly for the sake of propriety and partly because he was getting to a good bit anyway. After a few pages he glanced up to see her approaching his bed, the height difference between the two of them suddenly obvious as she had to tug on the legs of the trousers so she didn't trip over them. She looked absurd, and strangely adorable. The Doctor tried to suppress his laughter and almost managed it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, forcing the smile from his face. “I just remembered an old joke someone told me.”

Missy didn't look convinced, but she shrugged and climbed into the bed beside him. She lay on her side, facing him. “What are you reading?” she asked as he went back to his book once more.

“A book,” he said, lightly.

“What's it about?”

He turned a page. “It's about a very annoying woman who should go to sleep before her friend gets annoyed and kicks her out of his bed.”

He felt the mattress dip and spring as she turned over with an irritated sigh. “I hope you have nightmares,” she muttered. 

The Doctor smiled to himself and read on.

 

He woke to discover that he and Missy and become tangled together while they slept, limbs around each other. Missy was already awake and she hadn't moved away from him yet, and the Doctor wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. 

He cleared his throat. “Was this my fault or yours?” he asked as though he didn't really care.

“I think it was mutual.”

“You don't mind?”

She gave a little shrug. “These things happen.”

Her body was soft and warm and the proximity was surprisingly comforting. They couldn't stay like this forever, though, one of them would have to move eventually. Missy seemed quite settled where she was, and the Doctor was content to let her stay there for a little while at least.

“Aren't you going to make breakfast?” she asked, rather pointedly. “You know how cranky I get when I'm hungry.”

“You're ruining the moment,” he told her.

“What moment?”

He stared at her for a while before reluctantly moving away. “The moment that we weren't having, apparently,” he said as he stood. 

Missy yawned and stretched against the mattress. “Scrambled eggs, please. And some bacon if we have any left.”

 

The Doctor tuned his guitar as Missy played her way through _The Four Seasons_. They hadn't spoken to each other for at least an hour, but it was a companionable lack of conversation rather than an oppressive one. 

He looked up when she hit the tricky bit in the autumn concerto. “We should play something together,” he suggested. “A duet.”

She didn't miss a note. “What would we perform? Mozart's famous piece for piano and electric guitar?”

“Well, I'm sure he'd write us something if we asked,” said the Doctor. “I saved him from Sontarans once, he owes me.”

Missy stopped playing. “Good idea,” she said, standing. “We'll go now.”

The Doctor hesitated.

Missy looked hurt. “You think I'm still dangerous, don't you?”

“I didn't say that.” 

“No, but you were thinking it quite loudly.”

He looked at her carefully. “Do you still think about hurting people?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“About killing them?”

“Sometimes.” She sighed. “I think I'd rather be evil if the alternative is spending eternity in your stupid TARDIS.”

“She's not stupid,” said the Doctor automatically. He tried to placate Missy. “We'll go tomorrow,” he said. 

She sat down at the piano again. “You always say that.” She played a few angry notes. “Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Neither of us is getting any younger, you know.” 

“I'm sorry.”

“What if you bring him into the TARDIS? That way we get the music and you don't have to worry about me going on a murder-binge in eighteenth century Vienna.”

The Doctor considered the options. “Promise you won't try to kill Mozart?”

Missy smiled. “Cross my hearts.”

 

“It's bigger on the inside!”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” said the Doctor, leading the composer into the TARDIS. “Personally I think it's just an optical illusion.”

Missy appeared on the stairs. “Is this him?”

The Doctor nodded. “Missy, this is Mozart. Mozart, Missy.”

“I thought he'd look older,” said Missy.

“He's a prodigy, they always look young. Anyway, I'm sure he'll tell you about his skincare regime if you ask nicely.”

“Won't help you much,” muttered Missy as she crossed the room towards them.

Mozart was still staring at the unexpectedly large interior. The Doctor tugged at his sleeve. “Come on,” he said, “you've got a dinner appointment and I need to teach you the electric guitar.”

“Electric..?” 

Missy cut in. “Don't blind him with science, Doctor, you'll scare the poor boy.” She smiled at their guest. “It's an honour to meet you, you're probably one of the top ten least stupid humans in history.”

Mozart blinked. “Thank you. I think.”

“Anyway,” said the Doctor, trying to keep everyone focussed, “this meeting is strictly confidential and I don't want you inventing new genres of music before their time.”

“We could just wipe his memory afterwards,” said Missy. 

“Nobody is wiping anything,” said the Doctor. He looked at Mozart. “Just promise me you won't add any wicked guitar solos to _The Magic Flute_.” He thought for a moment. “Though that might liven up the second act...” 

“Doctor,” said Missy. 

He shook his head. “No, you're right, that was a stupid idea. It's probably fine as it is. Come on,” he said, leading the way to the music room.

 

He was already half-asleep when Missy walked into his bedroom without bothering to knock. 

“Has she hidden your room again?” he asked, as Missy slipped off her dressing-gown and hung it on the back of a chair. 

“No,” she said, “but your bed is much more comfortable than mine.” Her nightdress was long and lavender and he was quite certain that he'd never seen it before in his life.

“Do you want to swap?” he asked, as she moved towards the bed.

“I also like the fact that you're in it,” she added, lifting the covers and climbing in.

“Oh.”

She moved across the space between them, pressing herself against his side. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, torn between squirming away and risking an embrace.

“No.” She closed her eyes.

The Doctor thought things over in his head. Then he said, “Missy, I don't -”

“Goodnight, Doctor.”

“Missy, this is important,” he insisted.

But she didn't reply.

 

When he opened his eyes in the morning he found Missy staring at him rather intently.

“Oh, good,” she said, “you're awake.”

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. I just didn't want to do this until you knew I was doing it.” Before he could ask what she was talking about she moved and caught his mouth with hers.

He kissed her back mostly on instinct, letting her lead as she became more demanding. He didn't move away until she started unbuttoning the shirt of his pyjamas. 

“You don't want to,” she said, obviously disappointed.

“It's not about wanting, it's about whether this is necessarily a good idea.”

Missy shrugged. “It's not like it would change anything. It's nothing we haven't done before.”

“Not for a very long time,” he pointed out.

She scowled at him. “If you don't find me attractive any more you can just say so.” He caught her wrist as she started to pull away from him. 

“Of course I find you attractive,” he said, not wanting to let her go despite his own misgivings. 

She lifted her hand to cover his. “Then what's the problem?” 

He paused. “You're sure it won't mess things up between us?” he asked, aware that he was about to cross an invisible line.

She nodded. “I'm certain. Even if you go all soppy I'll still be me.”

“Then yes,” he said, and he kissed her again.

 

Missy had wanted to go to a beach, but the Doctor still wasn't sure how far he could trust her around innocent bystanders and so as a compromise they were in the library with the swimming-pool in the middle, sitting together on the edge of the pool with bare feet in the water. 

Compromise or not, it was going pretty well. They had passed most of an afternoon laughing about old times and occasionally splashing each other with water.

The Doctor nudged Missy with his elbow. “Do you remember when I messed up that experiment with the neutron flow and almost set our room on fire?”

“Actually,” said Missy, “I have a confession to make. It's been bugging me for centuries.”

“What has?”

“You didn't mess it up,” she admitted, “I reversed the polarity while you were in the shower.”

He gaped at her for a moment and then laughed. “Still, no harm done, eh?” He selected a packet of crisps from the pile beside him and opened them. “What about Borusa's sex lecture?”

“As if I could forget!”

The Doctor shook his head, smiling. “For months I thought it had something to do with bees.” He popped a salt-and-vinegar crisp into his mouth.

“Aren't you glad I finally told you the truth?” said Missy, with a wicked smile and a wink.

“Probably not as glad as my wife was,” he chuckled through a mouthful of crisp. He chewed happily as Missy kicked her feet in the water. 

Then she said, “Why did you never tell me about your mother?”

“What about her?” he asked, setting the packet to one side.

“I've known since San Francisco,” she said quietly. “Do you remember that? It was New Year's Eve and I stole a paramedic?”

The Doctor had the horrible feeling that he knew where this was going. “I remember,” he said, trying to sound calm. 

“You had a human retinal pattern in that body,” she went on. “You had your mother's eyes.” 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he lied, caught off-guard.

Missy turned to glare at him. “Stop pretending. I know. I should have known since we were kids, but for some reason you didn't tell me.” Apparently this had been gnawing away at her for some time, and now she was angry.

“Look,” he said, desperately, “we were having a great time here, I don't know why you have to start picking a fight over nothing.”

“Nothing?” She moved quickly, applying enough force to push him into the swimming-pool head-first. When he broke the surface of the water she was already halfway to the door of the library. He didn't entirely want to follow her.

 

Some time later, and a lot dryer, the Doctor made his way to Missy's room, having realised that he had to deal with this sooner or later. He knocked on her door and waited.

He knocked again. “Missy.”

Once more. “Missy, I know you're in there. Come out and we'll talk about it.” He pressed his ear against the door but he couldn't hear anything from inside the room. 

“It's not just you,” he said, “I've never told anyone.” Which wasn't entirely true, but if Missy didn't know that then he certainly wasn't going to tell her. “I'm sure you've got secrets too.”

He waited. “Missy.” He tried opening the door but it was locked. Annoyed, he took a step back. “If you want to stay in there and sulk that's up to you. I've got things to do anyway, I don't need you to distract me.”

He turned on his heel and headed to the console-room, thinking dark thoughts and occasionally muttering about people who didn't understand the limits of friendship. When he reached his destination the lights flickered ominously.

“Stop taking her side,” he snapped, “you don't even like her.”

The background hum of the TARDIS became louder. The Doctor flicked a switch angrily and scowled.

 

The next few days passed slowly in a silence that the Doctor was no longer accustomed to. He tried playing loud music over the internal communications system but somehow the ship was still too quiet. 

He tried reading, but he couldn't concentrate and found himself having to go back entire chapters at a time because the words just hadn't sunk in. He played Minesweeper and didn't win a single game. He didn't even bother trying to pick up his guitar.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to apologise. Everyone had a right to have secrets, he didn't have to tell someone his entire life story just because they were... whatever they were to each other. _She_ should be apologising to _him_ , really, because she was the one who had upset things.

No, there was no way he was going to say sorry. If Missy wanted to spend the next three hundred years hiding in her room then that was her problem, and it had nothing to do with him.

 

Something scratched at the door. The Doctor looked up, considered his options, and went to open it. Obviously Missy had calmed down, she probably wanted to talk. The door swung open and he found himself staring at nothing. He looked up and down the corridor, but there was nobody there. 

Confused, he glanced down and saw a single, rather charred, muffin lying on the floor with a solitary unlit candle stuck it in at an angle. He picked it up and stared at it. Then, slowly, he walked down the corridor and knocked on the door to Missy's room. 

This time she opened the door. She saw the muffin in his hand and looked at him expectantly. 

“I assume this is from you,” he said.

She nodded. “Happy birthday.”

“It's not my -” He stopped, consulted his mental calendar, and realised she was right. “Thanks for remembering,” he said, somewhat embarrassed.

“Someone has to remember it, you never do.”

An awkward silence stretched out and he realised that she was waiting for him to say something. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, quietly. “I should have trusted you.”

“It's fine,” she said, with an unconvincing casualness.

He shook his head. “It's not.” For want of a distraction he held up the muffin. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Did you use a recipe?” 

“I couldn't find one, so I improvised.” She shrugged. “It's only baking, how hard can it be?”

He handed the muffin to her. “Maybe it's best if I don't eat it.”

“Your loss,” she said, seemingly unconcerned. 

The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked at his shoes, and then at the door-frame. “If it's my birthday,” he said, trying not to meet Missy's gaze, “then it must be Otherstide soon. Maybe we should put up some decorations?”

“I hate Otherstide,” said Missy.

“Right. Sorry. I forgot.” He stared at the suddenly-fascinating floor.

“It reminds me of home in all the wrong ways. But if you want to buy me an extravagant and expensive present, feel free.”

He finally looked at her, and saw the playfulness in her eyes. “I'm not buying you anything dangerous,” he ventured.

“Surprise me,” she said. “Just make sure you get a receipt so I can take it back to the shop and replace it with something I actually want.”

“Do I get a gift too?” 

Missy raised an eyebrow. “I already made you a muffin, Doctor, don't get greedy.”

“Because I could do with a new pair of socks. Or maybe some of that magnetic fridge poetry. You could use it to leave me insulting messages,” he added, to tempt her.

She smiled. “I'll have a look through that Argos catalogue in the kitchen. But don't get your hopes up,” she warned, “and don't expect me to wrap it.”

He laughed. 

 

They were sitting on a park bench somewhere in London in the early twenty-first century. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and nothing dangerous was happening nearby. The Doctor would normally have been bored out of his mind by now, but he was busy worrying about Missy.

He risked a sideways glance at her. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and as far as he knew she hadn't killed anyone recently. Admittedly she had been stuck in his TARDIS most of time so her opportunities in that regard had been limited, but...

“What's the one?” Missy pointed towards the small lake in the centre of the park. 

“It's a swan,” he told her. Her knowledge of Earth and its fauna was fairly patchy. She seemed to know all about the predators, but everything else was something of a mystery to her.

“What's wrong with its neck?” she asked.

“It's supposed to look like that.”

“Are you sure?” He nodded and she lapsed into silence, staring at the swan. The Doctor wondered if she was thinking about wringing its neck. He looked around for a distraction and saw two young women walking past on the other side of the lake. They were about Bill's age, as far as he was any judge of these things, and they seemed to be happy. They were holding hands and laughing like they didn't have a care in the universe.

“I miss her too, you know.”

The Doctor turned his head to look at Missy. “What?”

“I miss Bill.”

He scoffed. “You hate humans.”

“I don't hate all of them. I liked Jo Grant, and I liked Bill.” She tilted her head to one side. “The rest of them are irritating and useless, but I liked those two.”

The Doctor wasn't convinced, and turned back to watch the happy young couple. He hoped Bill was happy too. Yes, being in love with a puddle who was also a spaceship was slightly unconventional, but maybe they could make it work. 

He felt a gentle pressure on his fingers and realised that Missy had slipped her hand into his. He looked at her blankly and she shrugged. 

“What are we?” he asked, suddenly concerned with what the answer might be. “You and me, what are we?”

“What we've always been,” said Missy without hesitation. 

“Which is?” 

“Us,” she said, as though it were simple.

 

They sat next to each other in the doorway of the TARDIS, feet hanging out into space.

Missy pointed at a star. “Have we been to that one?”

“Yeah, ages ago. You claimed to be their reincarnated god-emperor and I had to stop them burning you at the stake.”

She frowned at the offending star and picked out another. “What about that one?”

The Doctor shook his head. “I've been to that one, it's rubbish.”

Missy looked at him seriously. “Our pact was _every_ star, not just the good ones.”

“We can't really go to all of them,” he said. “Even if we somehow lived forever the universe itself has to end at some point.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the optimist?” she countered.

He thought it over. “You're sure about going to the rubbish ones?”

“Quite sure.”

He stood and held out a hand to help Missy to her feet. He closed the exterior doors behind them and walked towards the console. “Alphabetically, chronologically, or at random?” he asked.

“Let's just see where we end up,” said Missy, approaching the controls. “We're not in any hurry, we'll get round to them all eventually.”

The Doctor nodded and typed in some coordinates. “Alpha Centauri's quite nice at this time of year,” he said, pulling the lever to dematerialise. “There's a religious celebration that demands total silence, but I'll take the breaks off before we get there.”

Missy shook her head. “Pick somewhere else,” she said, “your TARDIS doesn't like silent landings.”

He peered at her across the console. “Have you two been talking to each other behind my back?” he asked, suspicious. 

“Of course not,” said Missy. She tugged a lever and turned a dial. “By the way, there's nothing wrong with the chameleon circuit. She's just very fond of the blue dress.”

He stared at her. Missy smiled and, after a few confused moments, the Doctor smiled too.


End file.
